Nothing To Do With You
by itsallsoverycanon
Summary: This focuses on Jack's recovery from the 456's invasion. On a planet from from Earth, someone helps Jack recover. At what price though?


"I sure know how to set myself up, don't I?" - Jack

Chapter 1

The Beginning of A New End

Bistrel is late today, which is strange. Jack checks the time on the hotel's clock-tower, frowning. The beach is peaceful, possibly because most people under thirty are absent from its black sands and silver-leafed palm trees. The three suns are setting and the smell of rain is in the air. Jack sips his whiskey slowly, feigning calm while a torrent of emotions swirled inside him.

He knows what he has to do and once again in his not-quite eternal life, his cowardice has abated. Unfortunately, whenever this happens, someone always gets hurt. But then again, being Jack, someone _still_ would always get hurt. Besides being unable to die, Jack had the unluckiness to have to watch his loved ones suffer. Usually because of him.

Bistrel would be a new casualty, whether Jack wanted it that way or not. Funnily enough, Jack would also be among the wounded.

Vstragothra. A planet that's dark, broken, and bone-chillingly cold. Exactly how Jack feels internally. A punishment for himself, not even his worst but nothing to sneeze at. Its most intelligent life-forms are difficult to communicate with, but Jack forms a shaky truce with them when he recues one of their clansmen from certain death with some medicine he happened to be carrying with him. The man almost did not survive his run in with one of Vstragothra's many carnivorous creatures.

Even though he made contact with Vstragothra denizens (who resemble bears more than humans), he lives a hermit life. He stays in his own cave, hunts his own food, and keeps his own counsel, often talking to himself. Jack loses track of time, deep in his grief and misery, surviving on the planet like a scene from a Star Wars movie.

Sometime later, he had enough of dying. Or committing suicide, depending on how you looked at it. Negligence or just plain bad luck, Jack died many times on Vstragothra. He's died from cold (from which he would wake and then die a few more times until his solar-powered pack fully charged to heat him up), he's woken up in a creature's excrement (unpleasant if only from trying to wash the stench off), and even from simple accidents caused by ice and unluckiness.

One day, Jack sees his bearded and unhappy face reflected in a sheet of ice. He looks older and it fills him with a strange euphoric feeling rather than displeasure. Sure, he'll die one day and it'll be from age, instead of a violent or disease-ridden death like most.

"I might as well enjoy the life I have," Jack whispered himself, stroking his beard. "No matter what happens, until I'm old enough, I'll live. Gotta make it count for something."

_Gotta make it count for Ianto, Owen, Tosh, and Gwen._

Sending up a distress signal from his Time Agency wristband, Jack smiles (not beaming, but enough) for the first time in a long while. It's a few days later when a cargo craft picks him up. The pilot is a charming aquatic-being who wears a spacesuit similar to the ones on Earth, only his helmet is filled with water. Yelnats is his name and he cheerily invites Jack onboard.

"Where ya heading?" Jack asks, warming up by unashamedly stripping naked and placing himself in front of a large space heater. "If you don't mind my asking."

"Far from here," Yelnats laughed, before glancing at Jack. "What's a guy like you doing on a planet like that, anyway?"

Jack's smile is mirthless. "Fighting demons."

Yelnats shakes his head. "I hear ya."

Elandria is a tourist planet. It's three solar systems away from Earth, universally renowned for its hedonism and beautiful atmosphere. As Jack is presented with a brochure when he steps off the ship, it showcases Elandria's picturesque beaches, jaw-dropping architecture, and clear blue skies sporting three suns during the day and two moons at night.

_Wow_, Jack thinks, walking out of the cargo-bay and into the open city, Bossa Nova. The city is based off the forties time-period of Earth, complete with long automobiles, formalwear-clad crowds, and upbeat jazz piano tunes drifting to Jack's surprised ears. The temptation to immerse himself in this world and forget about his past life leaves him lightheaded and vaguely nauseous. He licks his dry lips, still feeling the cut from his shaving earlier.

_I want to stay here_, he thinks, feeling guilt ensnare his intestines. He wants to feel good even though he _knows_ he doesn't deserve it.

A tall structure stood proudly out of the ground, looking like a bar of silver, seemingly glittering in the bright light of three suns. Jack sees people milling around it, laughing and parking their cars there. _A hotel then._ Jack contemplates staying, folding his arms with the brochure clenched in one hand.

"Hi, sir!"

Abruptly, there's a perky humanoid standing his vision. Jack blinks, if only to counter the boy's (very pretty boy) frighteningly white skin and blonde hair (or are they tentacles?). The young man is slightly shorter than Jack and his thin body looks very good in the shirt/vest/slack combination. Jack appreciatively takes him in, unfolding his arms and clasping his hands behind his back instead.

"Hello," Jack says, shooting the young man his winning smile. It feels a bit rusty, but by the way the young man's face flushes with color Jack thinks it still has its zing.

"I'm Bistrel," the young man points his nametag, "and I represent the hotel, Freya, over there." He inclines his head to the silver building Jack had just been staring at.

"Oh." Jack sticks out his hand, liking the way Bistrel has a firm handshake. "Captain Jack Harkness, at your service."

"I hope so," Bistrel murmurs, and Jack somehow knows he'll be checking into the Freya hotel.

While Bistrel leads Jack through the hotel's ornate corridors, Jack listens to the hotel's formal welcome for guests, mildly interested. He's more entertained by the fact that Bistrel boldly walks closely besides him, occasionally brushing hands with Jack. When they reach the suite, Jack is almost grinning as Bistrel ushers him inside and closes the door behind them with a _snick_.

Bistrel continues with the required protocol, showing Jack around the suite and batting violet eyes at the captain every chance he got. The bellboy presents the suite's features with grand flourish, pausing frequently make sure Jack is behind him. Bistrel's worry is unnecessary since his swaying hips draw Jack's full attention and amusement.

_Trying too hard_, Jack thinks amused and a little flattered by the attention. It's been a while since Jack's played the flirting game, even longer since anyone's looked at him without loathing or tears or both.

"If you ever need anything, sir…" Bistrel trails off, his professional mask disappearing in favor of a no-nonsense expression. "Let's stop this folly and have it on. I'm interested, you're interested, so we might as well."

Quite suddenly, instead of flattery, Jack feels queasy. Sure, the flirting was fine, but he didn't think Bistrel would be so–so forward. To cover his discomfort, Jack nearly glares at Bistrel.

"Might as well, what exactly?" Jack asks flatly. "This isn't very professional and I don't think your boss would like you propositioning the clientele. That is, unless you're sleeping with the manager as well?" He raises his eyebrows inquiringly.

Bistrel's small, pretty mouth tightens slightly, but the barb doesn't deter him. "You know what I'm on about. A shag. You and me. I could sense it the moment you turned around and smiled at me."

Jack rolls his eyes scornfully. "I smile at a lot of people," Jack snorts.

"Then you must fuck a lot of people," Bistrel replies casually. "Don't advertise something you're not selling."

Jack feels tired. He looks at Bistrel wearily, sighing and folding his arms. He has no desire for company right now, the friendly _or_ amorous kind right now.

"Listen," Jack starts softly, "I'm not in the mood for any of that, okay? Maybe… I don't know, later?"

Bistrel's eyes narrow and he slinks his way over to Jack. "Maybe? I don't do maybes. I just do." He tries to kiss Jack.

Jack evades him, shoving Bistrel away. "It's got nothing to do with you." He could feel his agony crawling up to the surface and wanted to be alone very badly.

"Tell yourself that," Bistrel says soft and imploring. "I'm not him. I won't do what he did to you."

Jack throws off his greatcoat and opens his door.

"Damn right, you won't. Now get out."


End file.
